GRATITUDE, 



WITH OTHER 



POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. 



Taylor, Green, & Littlewood, Printers, 15, Old Bailey. 



GRATITUDE, 



a JJorttral 9B#wv; 



WITH OTHER 



POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. 



BY CAPT. FELIX M'DONOGH, 

LATE OF THE SECOND REGIMENT OF LIFE GUARDS. 



AUTHOR OF "THE HERMIT IN LONDON," 

1 THE HERMIT IN THE COUNTRY," " THE HERMIT ABROAD," 

"THE HIGHLANDERS," AND OTHER POPULAR WORKS. 



LONDON : 
WILLIAM BOOTH, 32, DUKE STREET, 

MANCHESTER SQUARE. 

MDCCCXXV. 
ft" 



Z7 



t* 



tfS~ 

TO HIS GRACE 

THE DUKE OF ARGYLL, 

TO 

THE OFFICERS 

OF 

THE SECOND REGIMENT OF LIFE GUARDS, 

AND TO THOSE OF 

THE ROYAL ARTILLERY, 

THESE TRIFLES IN VERSE 

ARE HUMBLY AND GRATEFULLY DEDICATED, 

BY AN OLD SOLDIER, 

AND THEIR OBLIGED SERVANT, 

THE AUTHOR. 



a3 



PREFACE. 



Utinam promissa liceret non dare/' were 
the words of Apollo to his presumptuous son 
Phaeton, after the former had made a rash 
promise. The same words are, I fear, too 
applicable to me, the hesitating and trepi- 
dating Author of these trifles in verse. 
Would that I could retract my pledge to 
publish ! But gratitude forbids it : for how 
can I otherwise acknowledge the kind pa- 
tronage, the benevolent feeling, and the 
timely assistance of those friends who have 



8 



given their support to this undertaking, 
more with a view to throw a ray of comfort 
over the gloom of adversity, than from any 
other intention whatever ? 

Under this impression, this Work goes 
forth. None are aware of its imperfections 
more than myself; but as I have clad it in 
all humility and diffidence, and breathed 
upon it the warm incense of grateful ex- 
pression, I trust that it will be indulgently 
received, and will be considered as a Work 
more proceeding from the heart than from 
the head (il cor nelle parole) ; and that, 
thus introduced, it may acquire an interest 
which might otherwise not be strictly due 
to it. Most of its materials have been 
winged thoughts, impromptu suggestions 
of feeling on different occasions and in 



9 



different circumstances, many of them in 
moments of suffering; so that where ex- 
pression may be deficient, sensibility has, 
at least, been present; and although the 
Work be not entitled to the meed of praise, 
the kind reader may perhaps be inclined 
to believe, that it has not been entirely 
written invita Minerva, 



a5 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Gratitude, a Poetical Essay 17 

The Infant 18 

The Christian 19 

The Lover 20 

The Soldier 21 

The Sailor 22 

The Poor Man 23 

The Author 25 

Halls of my Forefathers 31 

The Troubadour 33 

Lines in Cymbeline versified, written on the prema- 
ture Death of a beautiful young Lady 36 



12 

PAGE 

Impromptu, on seeing a Lady place a Rose in her 

Bosom 37 

Original French War Song, translated. . . * . . 38 

A Fragment, imitated from Petrarch, at a very early 

age. ............. , 41 

The Withered Leaf: from the French 43 

Paddy's Welcome to King George the Fourth, on his 

arrival in Ireland * 45 

A Romance — Vous qui priez, priez pour moi 4§ 

On Love . ; * 51 

An Impromptu. \ f 52 

A Latin Epigram, translated ..**... 53 

Phillis's Eyes : from the Spanish 54 

To Lady Grant, on New Year's Day. * 58 

My Heart 's in the Highlands ; an imitation 60 

Lines written on receiving a Moss-rose from the late 

Countess of Belvidere ^ * . . 62 

On the Field of Waterloo . . 63 

Impromptu, on seeing a poor Old Soldier begging . . 64 

On leaving Ireland * 65 



13 

PAGE 

Impromptu, on seeing the body of the late Lord Nel- 
son conveyed by water to London 66 

Britannia at the Tomb of Nelson . 67 

A translation from the Latin of " Occidit mea char a 

Pancharilla" 69 

Lines, on the Destruction of a College Garden 70 

The Captive Lark 72 

Another Troubadour 75 

An Impromptu. * 76 

An Impromptu 77 

A French Song, translated 78 

Irregular Stanzas 80 

A War Hymn, translated from the German. ....... 82 

Translation from the Portuguese 85 

On a Withering Ash-tree 86 

The Creditor 88 

Lines sent to the Author, in consequence of a Conver- 
sation on * What is Life ?" 92 

A Song 93 

Imitation from the Greek of Anacreon 95 



14 

PAGE 

To Mrs. R. H. M 97 

Impromptu . 98 

From the Spanish 99 

Epitaph on Colonel T— n— n 100 

The Misnomers of the Metropolis 101 

Spanish Serenading Song 103 

From the Latin of " Somne levis" 105 

Concluding Stanzas. • . • 106 



GRATITUDE. 



GRATITUDE. 



Queen of the Virtues ! though my lay be rude, 
Thy praise I sing — celestial Gratitude : 
Kindest impression which our nature knows, 
The balm and solace of a thousand woes ; 
The best inheritance by heart possessed, 
Which, blessing others, in itself is bless'd ; 
The brightest ray in life's eventful storm, 
Thee must I honour, whatsoe'er thy form : 



18 

Reward of lovers, treasure in a friend, 
First blush of reason, comfort in our end, 
Mute eloquence, to memory ever dear, 
Told in a smile, imparted in a tear, 
Convey'd in changeful cheek and humid eye, 
And oft affection's last, sole legacy, 
From Heav'n deriv'd, to Heaven ever due, 
But yet, alas ! the portion of the few. 

THE INFANT. 

By mother's snowy arms, the infant press'd, 
Fed, fondled, pillow'd on her downy breast, 
Awhilst her mild, inquiring looks may seek 
A father's likeness in its dimpled cheek, 
The eyes expand, the lips still wider part, 
The first fond tribute of a grateful heart 5 
Prime spark of virtue, genuine, refin'd ; 
True promise of an undirected mind ; 



19 

Language untaught, which pure from nature came, 
Before the tongue could lisp a mother's name. 
Oh ! may no worldly interest remove 
This first, best lesson, taught us from above ! 

THE CHRISTIAN. 

In riper years, when more observing man 
Views the Creation's rich, extensive plan ; 
Ascends the mountain, treads the enamell'd plain, 
Admires the cataract, or boundless main, 
Courts the cool shade of stately, verdant trees, 
Pores o'er the brook, or pleasures in the breeze, 
Inhales the sweets of aromatic flower, 
Given from its bosom to the sunny hour ; 
Full of religious gratitude, he sighs, 
Inspir'd by thoughts which dwell beyond the skies ; 
To holy ecstasy he 's forced to yield, 
And owns the God of nature, thus reveal'd. 



20 



THE LOVER. 

Journeying onward, up the steep of time, 
The bosom warm'd with feelings less sublime, 
Some choice companion of our youth appears, 
The admiration of our ardent years ; 
Love's kindled flame the throbbing bosom fires, 
A mutual flame at once the maid inspires ; 
But downcast eyes and blushes yet conceal 
A secret too important to reveal : 
Yet oft betray'd by features when they meet, 
And marked at parting by some accent sweet, 
Whose sound is sadly soft and fondly dear, 
Like maiden-blush, the tint of hope and fear ; 
Uncertain each, the wooing and the woo'd, 
The youth pursuing, and the maid pursued ; 
Till gratitude for kind attentions shewn, 
And tender interest, twines their hearts in one : 
f 



21 

Binds them in flowery wreaths, by fancy wove, 
The willing fetters forged by mutual love ; 
Which last till, blessing with a parting breath, 
The link is loosen'd by the hand of death ! 

THE SOLDIER. 

The hardy soldier, travelling afar, 
'Midst all the dangers of protracted war, 
In hostile climates, such as Britons feel 
Scarce less destructive than the fatal steel ; 
Sever'd from friends and home, to all men dear, 
Expos'd to death, a stranger still to fear ; 
Where'er he serve, whatever be the earth, 
Grateful he names the land which gave him birth , 
Full of the thought, he sees his colours fly, 
Resolv'd for them to conquer or to die ; 
To brave the battle, or to stem the flood, 
To gain the victory, or shed his blood ; 



22 

To mount the breach, to place upon the wall 
St. George's banner, or with it to fall. 
For hope with glory ever is allied, 
The soldier's solace, and the soldier's pride ; 
It bids him think that, when the conflict 's o'er, 
His deeds in arms may reach his native shore ; 
In some despatch, announcing England's fame, 
His grateful country may insert his name. 

THE SAILOR. 

Pois'd 'twixt the azure heav'n and briny deep, 
See the bold tar his lonely mid-watch keep ; 
Far, far from land, what nerves his dauntless soul, 
When tempests lower and mountain billows roll ? 
What steels his heart when clinging to the mast — 
What makes him brave the battle and the blast ? 
What gives him patience in each trying clime, 
In all privations and consuming time ! 



23 

The hope that Providence, the sailor's friend, 
Will, kindly, not desert him to the end ; 
That there's a saving pow'r, the clouds above — 
A realm of rest — a seat of bliss and love — 
A haven for the wreck'd — a last, safe shore, 
To anchor in, when time and care are o'er ; 
When tears /viped off, and sorrows all subdued, 
Shall melt and mingle in soft gratitude. 

THE POOR MAN. 

Lo ! where the poor man wends his weary way, 
To disappointments constantly a prey ; 
See him, beset by sorrow and by strife, 
Pace out the remnant of a wretched life ; 
Deserted, cut adrift from social tie, 
And left alone, the heir of misery ; 
Or follow'd by one faithful, mourning mute, 
Which proves man more unfeeling than the brute, 



24 

The trusty dog, which, in his master's eye 
His sorrows marks, and proves his sympathy ; 
Looks sad with him, or, if content prevail, 
Gratefully frisks and wags his curly tail ; 
Watches his slumbers, tells when danger ? s near, 
And walks dejected close behind his bier : 
Lessons like these too frequently we find, 
Shame and disgrace to beings bless'd with mind ! 

What bliss is his to whom the lot is given, 
To be, on earth, the treasurer of Heaven ! 
More rich in charity than golden store, 
The agent, from on high, to aid the poor ; 
A chosen one, man's sufferings to allay, 
And chase the mourning of the heart away ; 
The pauper's friend, the prisoner's relief, 
The Christian, born to share a brother's grief; 
To visit gloomy cells, however drear, 
Nor think the lowliest wretch beneath his care ; 



25 

To cheer the widow, the sad orphan keep, 
Bid the wretch trust in God, and cease to weep ! 
Such souls are far above the world's regard, 
The poor man's blessing is their just reward : 
His grateful orisons, by night and day, 
Shall record bear, when time has pass'd away. 

THE AUTHOR. 

In rosy youth, when fancy wings her flight 
To untried regions, veil'd from mortal sight ; 
When glowing breast and eagle-soaring eye 
Ascend, in thought, to immortality ; 
Wrapt in devotion, warm'd by magic flame, 
The nursling muse first courts a poet's fame ; 
Lisps her young numbers, to invention dear, 
And, trembling, tries an essay, fraught with fear : 
Beholds, approves, rejects ; returns and tries 
The strain once more, as time with fancy flies ; 



26 

Then, full of hope, resumes the theme again, 

A constant source of pleasure and of pain ; 

Like infant love and cravings unpossess'd, 

A twilight thought, by which we dream the rest ; 

Such are the throbs and pangs of Authors' hearts, 

Who woo soft poesy by fits and starts ; 

By fits forsake her, till some vision flings 

A witchcraft o'er the brain — when straight his wing* 

The Poet plumes, and tries, perhaps in vain, 

Parnassus' lofty summit to attain. 

If in ambition's flight he's doom'd to fall, 

Muse, measure, Poet, prospects, perish all ! 

But should he chance a patron to engage, 

Should beauty's glances fall upon his page ; 

Should generous genius, feeling for his case, 

His little book upon his table place ; 

Indulgently to brother critic tell, 

" That hungry bard can rhyme it pretty well ; 



27 

u That though the muses no great skill had lent, 
" The Poet's heart and hand together went ;" 
Grateful for this, he'd tune his humble lays — 
The Author's fortune is the meed of praise. 



b2 



j 



POEMS 



TRANSLATIONS. 



b3 



31 



HALLS OP MY FOREFATHERS. 



Iinpius hsec tara culta novalia miles habebit? 

Barbaras has segetes ? Virgil. 



When the sun of my youth, with its bloom, was de- 
clining, 

Which beam'd o'er my path in the summer of life ; 
And the gay dream of fancy, its empire resigning, 

Had open'd my eyes to a world full of strife : 
I turn'd from false pleasure to sober reflection, 

And ponder'd on scenes to fond memory dear ; 
And wearily wander'd in mental dejection, 

To seek for my home, but the stranger was there ! 



32 

Halls of my forefathers ! mouldering in ruin, 

Sad is the echo which sighs through your shade ; 
Mournful 's the wood-pigeon plaintively cooing, 

Death-like the tread in your forest decayed : 
There was a time when the harp softly thrilling, 

Tales of romance and of valour could tell ; 
Halls ! I must quit ye, however unwilling, 

Home of my fathers, for ever farewell ! 



33 



THE TROUBADOUR. 



FROM THE FRENCH. 



Burning with love, and bound for fields of glory, 
A minstrel, knowing care alone by name, 

Thus gaily tun'd his lyre to martial story, 
Alike awake to passion and to fame : 

Faithful in love, undaunted in his duty, 
His firm and feeling hand flew o'er the strings, 

He sigh'd and sung, devoted still to beauty, 

My heart's my mistress's, my life's my king's. 
b 5 



34 

In the cold bivouac his manly breast 

Glow'd with affection, swell'd with warrior-pride ; 
Gay was the plumage of his helmet's crest, 

Polish'd the lyre and sabre by his side : 
He gave each thought to love and to his duty, 

And as his hand flew o'er the trembling strings, 
He sigh'd and sung, devoted still to beauty, 

My heart 's my mistress's, my life 's my king's. 

In gory field his courage he display'd, 

And dealt destruction wheresoe'er he came ; 
With spirit high, and bosom undismay'd, 

As oft he called upon his charmer's name : 
For 'midst the deadly perils of his duty, 

To which he flew as if on eagle's wing, 
He sigh'd and sung, devoted still to beauty, 

My heart 's my mistress's, my life 's my king 's. 



35 

First of the brave ! at length in bold advance, 

His bosom met the blow which clos'd his life ; 
He calmly fell beneath the fatal lance, 

Amid the din of arms and battle's strife : 
Dying, he cried, " here ends the minstrel's duty ; 

" No more this hand shall touch the trembling 
strings : 
n . But faithful still to honour and to beauty, 

u This heart 's my mistress's, this life 's my 
king's. 



36 
LINES IN CYMBELINE 

VERSIFIED, 

ON THE OCCASION OF THE PREMATURE DEATH OF A BEAUTIFUL 
AND INTERESTING YOUNG LADY. 

Thou shalt not lack the primrose pale, 
Which matches now thy faded cheek ; 

Nor shall the azure harebell fail 
The lustre of thine eye to speak ; 

No, nor the fragrant eglantine 

To imitate thy sweeter breath ; 
Nor shall rude ivy dare to twine, 

Where youthful limbs recline in death : 

All these the pious redbreast's bill 

Shall ceaseless bring, till flowers are gone ; 

And then, well pleas'd to deck thee still, 
Thy winter-robe of moss put on. 






37 



IMPROMPTU, 

ON SEEING A LADY PLACE A ROSE IN HER EOSOM. 

Why blushes thus yon rose so rare ? 
Tis because Emma ? s far more fair : 
Why droops it thus ere set of sun ? 
>r Tis to behold its charms outdone : 
Why sinks it thus those lips beneath ? 
Its sweets have flown to Emma's breath. 



38 



FRENCH WAR SONG, 



TRANSLATED. 



The bugle resounds from afar, 

'Tis the call of our house — I obey 5 
I fly to the perils of war, 

Sweet ! weep not the moments away : 
But rather exultingly sing 

To thy harp, and be glory the strain ; 
Thy love, borne on victory's wing, 

Shall return to thy bosom again. 



39 

Yon heaven is the hue of thine eye, 

Bland Zephyr 's less sweet than thy breath ; 
Thy smiles fair Aurora outvie, 

As she beams on the roses beneath : 
Thy bosom 's an empire of charms, 

The down of the swan is less white ; 
But, alas ! must these fond widow'd arms 

Now be torn from that spot of delight ! 



Whilst I combat, should death be my doom ; 

To fate if my valour must yield, 
Near a torrent, ah ! rear a green tomb \ 

Twill remind thee of victory's field* 
Whilst thy form shall in orison bend, 

The soul of thy hero above 
In a cloud shall appear to descend, 

To bless thee from regions of love* 



40 

The toils of the warrior seem hard, 

When a wife and a country he leaves ; 
But sweet is that warrior's reward, 

And proud is the wreath he receives : 
Like the first ray of morn after night, 

Is its welcome : then weep not for me ; 
Nor think, though no longer in sight, 

Aught can part us — my heart dwells with thee . 



41 



A FRAGMENT, 

IMITATED FROM PETRARCH, AT A VERY EARLY AGE. 



Discolorato hai, morte, &c. 



The brightest eyes the heaven beneath 
Are clos'd by thee, relentless death ! 
In vain I sigh, in vain I seek 
The rose and lily of her cheek ; 
The fragrance of her breath is flown, 
Like richest flowers overblown ; 
And sounds to memory sadly dear 
No longer charm affection's ear. 
Dejected Echo now is mute, 
Depriv'd of Laura's voice and lute ; 



42 

That voice no more can sounds impart 
Which seem'd to vibrate in the heart ; 
Her form, of nature's finest mould, 
Is lifeless, motionless, and cold ; 
Yet still can memory well retrace 
The beauties of her form and face. 
Laura, my life, my only dear ! 
Bright tenant of the starry sphere ; 
If souls in immortality 
Commune with men, oh ! list to 'me : 
In shadowy form my steps attend, 
Till life's imprisonment shall end ; 
With thee entomb this heart of mine 5 
Let my cold arms be lock'd in thine. 



43 



THE WITHERED LEAF. 

FROM THE FRENCH. 

Poor vagrant leaf! the sport of every wind, 

Torn from thy blighted parent branch, oh ! say ? 
Where fliest thou, a resting-place to find ? 

Alas ! I know not whither lies my way, 
The cruel blast that struck the monarch oak, 

Me has bereft of shelter and support ; 
The trunk still groans beneath the fatal stroke, 

And my existence surely must be short : 
I know not where I go ; the breeze beneath, 

Zephyr and Aquilon, on me, in turn, 
Exert their empire : now along the heath 

I'm driven, but I may not there sojourn. 



44 

To hill and valley next I'm forced to stray, 

Slave of inconstant winds, without a friend ; 
I murmur not, although full well I may ; 

Greater than I may have the self-same end. 
I go where every thing must go which grows 

Beneath the sun, however fair to view, — 
The flower of love and youthfulness, the rose, 

Ay, and the proud imperial laurel too. 



45 



ON 

THE KINGS GOING TO IRELAND: 

PADDYS WELCOME TO KING GEORGE THE FOURTH. 



Tune— The French Air, " ViveleRoi" 



Long live the King! away with all complaining, 

Dried be each tear, and ev'ry care depart ; 
Joy now succeeds, and, beyond all restraining, 
Beams in each eye, and expands in each heart. 
Long live the King ! 
Long live the King ! 



46 

Long live the King ! our Em'rald Isle possessing, 

Green are her fields, and soft her native lays ; 
Now let her harp breathe the tenderest blessing, 
Now let her bards sing their dear Monarch's 
praise. 

Long live the King ! 
Long live the King ! 



Long live the King ! Hibernia's arms enfold him, 
Dear to each breast that's loyal, brave, and true ; 
Prince, Father, Friend ! Erin's childrenbehold him, 
Star of the West ! oft thy visit renew. 
Long live the King ! 
Long live the King ; 



47 

Long live the King ! for him the wreath entwining, 

Blend with the rose the shamrock's triple leaf ; 
Love, peace, and joy, thus together combining, 
Smile o'er his path, hope beguiling each grief. 
Long live the King! 
Long live the King ! 



48 



A ROMANCE, 



TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH. 



Vous qui priez, priez pour moi. 



In the gloomy retreat of a hamlet obscure, 

A youth, sadly suffering, smil'd over his pain ; 
For long he had learned to submit and endure, 

To view life consuming, yet not to complain. 
The sun on his thatch cast a lingering ray ; 

To the poor humble cottagers softly said he, 
" I hear the bell tolling which calls you to pray, 

Forget not to pray, my good neighbours, for me. 



49 

" But when, at grave twilight, the murm'ring cascade, 

Its gentler waters shall give to the rills, 
And the willow shall cast o'er its features a shade, 

Ah ! think that I then am releas'd from all ills. 
Though faint and though sick, long dejected I lay, 

Ah ! think that at last the pure spirit is free ; 
And when the bell tolls to invite you to pray, 

Forget not to pray, my good neighbours, for me. 

" Like the blossom that's blown, but is withered 
the morrow, 

I'm doom'd to the grave ere the hour of my prime ; 
The child of affliction, a being of sorrow, 

Yet young in transgression, a stranger to crime : 
The term of my pilgrimage passes away, 

Not long this emaciated form you will see ; 

Then when the bell tolls to invite you to pray, 

Forget not to pray, my good neighbours, for me, 
c 



50 

"The spouse of my bosom, the friend of my heart, 

I liv'd but for her, but the season was brief; 
In the morning of life we were destin'd to part, 

Ah ! pity, dear cottagers, pity her grief! 
When cold in my lone bed reposes my clay, 

And when these wan features no longer you see ; 
That friend of my bosom will join when you pray, 

As the bell tolls as if it were tolling for me," 



51 



ON LOVE. 



[A young' Lady having asked for a translation of the 
following lines from La Fontaine, the Author of the trifles 
in verse which compose this volume made it off-hand.] 



L'amour, a ce qu'on dit empeche de dormir, 
S'il a quelque plaisir, il ne Y a pas sans peine, 
Voyez la tourterelle, entendez la gemir, 
Vous vous garderez bien de condamner Clymene. 



Love, blissful love, is close allied to pain, 
It haunts the sleepless eye and aching brain ; 
List to the turtle-dove's soft plaintive moan, 
Then blame not fair Clymene, pensive grown. 



c2 



52 



IMPROMPTU, 

ON TOUCHING A YOUNG. LAD Y's HAND OF EXQUISITE SENSI- 
BILITY, WHICH OCCASIONED HER TO BE STARTLED. 

When my rude hand encounter'd thine, 
. Alas ! I felt the shock was such, 
As if a sacred spotless shrine 
Were trespass'd on by heathen touch : 
For that soft hand, so lily white, 
An emblem of thy fairer mind, 
Beams, unperceiv'd by vulgar sight, 
A jewel of the rarest kind. 



53 



A LATIN EPIGRAM, 



TRANSLATED. 



Lumine Aeon dextro, capta est Leonida sinistro, &c. 



From Aeon cruel fortune stole one eye, 

From fair Leonida another took : 
In beauty with the gods they both could vie, 

And each enamour by a single look. 
Ah ! give, fond youth, the only eye thou hast, 

To deck the maid who needs it more than thee ; 
Blind Cupid then by thee will be surpassed, 

The bright-eyed Queen of Beauty she will be. 



54 



LOS OJOS DE FILIS. 



A tus hermosos ojos 
No hay alma que resista, 

Y presa de tu vista 
No quede enamorada. 
Que hermosa Filis eres ; 
Si fueras mas humana, 

Y ardieras en la llama 
En que me abraso yo ! 



55 



PHILLISS EYES. 



"Gainst thy enchanting eyes 

Our love has no control ; 
They take us by surprise, 

And captivate the soul. 
Yet, Phillis, thou would'st be 

Still lovelier than thou art, 
If pity dwelt in thee 

For this consuming heart. 



56 

El tierno amor se anida 
Dentro tus ojos bellos, 

Y viene en torno de ellos 
Las gracias y las risas. 
Que hermosa, Filis eres 
Si fueras mas humana, 

Y ardieras en la llama 
En que me abraso yo ! 

Detus divinos ojos 
La llama luminosa 
Brilla en tu faz hermosa 
Cual sol en el oriente. 
Que hermosa, Filis eres ; 
Si fueras mas humana, 

Y ardieras en la llama 
En que me abraso yo ! 



57 

Yet love can all the while 

Within those orbits dwell, 
And grace light up each smile, 

T increase the fatal spell. 
Yet, PhiUis, thou would'st be 

Still lovelier than thou art, 
If pity dwelt in thee 

For this consuming heart. 

The light of rising day 

More brilliant cannot shine, 
Than the resplendent ray 

Of those sweet eyes divine. 
Yet, Phillis, thou would'st be 

Still lovelier than thou art, 
If pity dwelt in thee 

For this consuming heart. 

c5 



58 



TO LADY GRANT, 

ON NEW year's DAY. 

I have no vernal wreath to bring, 

No fragrant flow'rs, the pride of Spring ; 

No costly present, rich and rare, 

Befitting of a lady fair : 

My humble lay, devoid of art, 

Obeys the language of the heart ; 

Un tutor 'd, rude, and unrefined, 

Not half the feeling of the mind ; 

Such as it is, accept the lay, 

Not the mere offering of a day ; 



59 

Not fix'd to period or to clime, 
But still immutable by time ; 
Lady, farewell ; thou 'rt ever dear, 
On every day, and every year. 



60 



MY HEART >S IN THE HIGHLANDS, 



AN IMITATION. 



My heart's in the Highlands, my heart's ever there, 
It dwells in the country to memory dear ; 
With the eagle and roe my affections take flight, 
And the rock and the mountain are still my delight : 
My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart 's ever there, 
It dwells in the country to memory dear. 

My heart 's mid the hether, my heart 's on the hill, 
It sighs o'er the lake, and it lingers there still ; 
It lurks in the brechen, it doats on the moor, 
It swells near the cairn of our heroes of yore : 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart's ever there, 
It dwells in the country to memory dear. 



61 



My heart 's in the garb which my forefathers wore, 
The tartan, the bonnet, and gallant clay-more ; 
The clay-more so trusty, the bonnet so blue, 
The plaid, and the arms still to victory true : 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 's ever there, 
It dwells in a country to memory dear. 

My heart clings to clanship and usages old, 

It bounds to the pipe and the pibroch so bold; 

It burns at the war-shout of mountaineer brave, 

In battle or death-song o'er warrior's grave : 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 's ever there, 

It dwells in the country to memory dear. 



62 



LINES 

, WRITTEN ON RECEIVING A MOSS-ROSE FROM THE LATE 
COUNTESS OF BELV1DERE. 

Why, when thy hue can match the blushing morn, 
Fav'rite of Flora ! has her partial power 

Form'd only thee * to bloom without a thorn, , 
The pride, yet envy, of each sister flower ? 

Twas Belvidera's hand that gathered thee, 
And gave an emblem of her placid mind ; 

From pride and every rude emotion free, 
The gentler virtues there are all combin'd. 

Thrice happy rose ! resembling aught so fair, 
May'st thou prophetic of her fortune prove ; 

Through life's rough path be sweets alone her share, 
Auspicious Heaven! the piercing thorns remove. 

* Amongst roses. 



63 



ON THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 

Sleep on, ye brave ! no more the trump of war 
Shall shake your startled slumbers from afar : 
Peace to your shades ! may mercy meet ye all, 
And shield ye at the last dread trumpet's call ! 



64 



IMPROMPTU, 



ON SEEING A POOR OLD SOLDIER BEGGING, AND A PERSON RE" 
FUSING HIM ARROGANTLY AND CONTEMPTUOUSLY. 



Date obolnm Belisario. 



Lo! where, with age and hardships broken down, 
The poor old soldier bares his honest crown 
To prosperous worldlings, for their paltry pelf, 
And for a bit of bread demeans himself: 
Beware, ye rich, by whom contempt is given ! 
Repuls'd on earth, are most receiv'd in heaven ! 



65 



ON LEAVING IRELAND. 



- dulcia linquimus arva. Virgil. 



Dear sainted soil ! dear Emerald Isle, adieu! 
Land of the harp, to feeling ever true; 
Bland are thy breezes, fertile are thy plains, 
Lovely thy nymphs, and valorous thy swains : 
Thy climate well bespeaks the native mind, 
Warm, weeping, generous, and of nature kind. 
The uncertain rainbow to thy shore is dear, 
Shining through storms, and smiling through a 

tear. 
Erin, farewell ! for ever, if we part, 
Thy verdure is engraven on my heart 



66 



IMPROMPTU, 



ON SEEING THE BODY OF THE IMMORTAL LORD NELSON CON- 
VEYED TO LONDON BY WATER. 



The troubled wave which bore the hero's bier, 
Resigned its load with many a parting tear : 
Shall Earth now boast the valiant victor slain ? 
Ah ! no : his spirit hovers o'er the main. 
Beneath the sod the hero's form may rest, 
But still it lives in every seaman's breast ; 
Tis present when the British flag 's -unfurl'd, 
Ensign of victory throughout the world ! 



67 



BRITANNIA AT THE TOMB OF NELSON 

THE MUSIC OF WHICH WAS COMPOSED BY M. P. CORR1, AND 
SUNG AT THE CONCERT ROOMS, EDINBURGH. 



Britannia, fam'd for deeds of arms, 

Her much-lov'd Nelson seems to mourn ; 
Her bosom rent with dire alarms, 

Her tears bedew his sacred urn : 
And, as she heaved the frequent sigh, 

As anguish rent her aching breast, 
His glorious spirit hov'ring nigh, 

Th' illustrious Genius thus addrest : — 
I My aid to thee I'll still impart, 

Thy ancient glory to maintain ; 
I live in every seaman's heart, 

And still Britannia rules the main." 



68 

Britannia, charm'd to hear the lays, 

Exulting rais'd her lovely head ; 
" Thou, like the laurel bloom'st," she says, 

" In honour's never-fading bed : 
And as the boldest Briton's tear 

Shall gush as he proclaims thy name, 
His breast shall banish ev'ry fear, 

Whilst thus he emulates thy fame. 
So shall my proud, triumphant bark, 

Preserve her standard free from stain ; 
And, warm'd by Nelson's vital spark, 

Still shall Britannia rule the main." 



69 



IMITATED FROM THE LATIN 



OCCIDIT MEA CHARA PANCHARILLA, &C. 

Dear Pancharilla's death I deep deplore, 

My light and star of destiny no more ! 

I trace her shade, whilst fast the salt tear falls, 

A solitary mourner in my halls. 

Dear one — I'll follow to thy mournful shrine ; 

There, as the embracing roots of trees entwine 

Beneath the earth, our loves shall so combine, 

That we companions of the grave shall be, 

No living lovers half so fond as we ! 



70 






LINES 



ON 



THE DESTRUCTION OF A COLLEGE GARDEN, 

WHERE THE AUTHOR HAD PASSED MANY HAPPY HOURS WITH 
A MUCH ESTEEMED FRIEND. 



The scenes of our youth, still to memory dear, 

Are often retrac'd through warm sympathy's tear ; 

We fondly look back as to far distant shore, 

Like the exile who 's sentenc'd to view it no more. 

Then how can I wonder that friendship should pay 

A sorrowing tribute, a pitying lay, 

A sigh of regret, whilst the axe shall remove 

A garden once hallow'd by friendship and love ? 

Its loss is to me like a loss of the heart, 

In its doom my affections most keenly take part ; 



71 

Nay, I fancy almost (though the simile's bold) 
That our lot much resembles our parents of old ; 
Since we have to regret each fair flower and tree 
In a garden which once was an Eden to me. 
Yet comfort I find in its present disgrace, 
Since soul is confin'd not to period or place ; 
For sentiment ne'er shall experience decay, 
Through seasons and ages which wither away : 
The hand that defiles fair religion's abode, 
In sacking the temple, pollutes not its God. 
Then peace to those shades which we cannot re- 
store, 
Affection shall flourish when time is no more. 



72 



THE CAPTIVE LARK. 

I cannot sing — I cannot sing, 

My heart is far away ; 
Where the wild bird flits on restless wing 

Through the merry summer's day. 

For once I sung where thfi green leaf grows 

On the mighty forest tree, 
And the harebell blue and the red-briar rose, 

Were gentle company. 



73 

And I have shaken the silver dew 

From the fairies' golden cup, 
And awaken' d the plover and shrill curlew, 

As the monarch sun rose up. 

I droop — I droop — I cannot float, 

As a winged voice of air, 
Through the waveless blue like a sunny moat, 

Right merrily — merrily there. 

Again the forest walk is green, 

The young leaf bathes in light, 
The primrose springs from its mossy screen, 

As pale as the orb of light. 

The cowslip is up and the daisy too, 

To hail the march of Spring ; 
And the violet comes with its eye of blue, 

But thither I cannot wing. 

D 



74 

I droop — I droop — I cannot sing, 

My heart is far away ; 
Where the wild bird flits on restless wing, 

Through the merry summer's day. 



75 



ANOTHER TROUBADOUR, 



FROM THE FRENCH. 



Ah ! Ladye sweet, accept the humble lay, 
The homage which the minstrel ? s proud to pay ; 
In cherish'd servitude behold him come 
To her whose eyes must fix his future doom : 
Behold the Troubadour's fond bosom burn, 
Ladye bestow some kindness in return. 

Thus sung the minstrel of his faithful flame, 
Whilst his soft lyre sigh'd out his Ladye' s name : 
She was sole mistress of his manly breast, 
Which honour, truth, and constancy possess'd ; 
Behold, (he sung,) this bosom fondly burn ! 

Ladye bestow some kindness in return. 

d2 



76 



IMPROMPTU, 

ON THE GRADUATION OF AN IRISH STUDENT IN EDINBURGH. 

" Paddy B. is a Doctor," said Mrs. M'Kee, 
To Terence, surpris'd as he heard her : 

u Oh ! yes," she repeated, u he 's got his degree :" 
" His degree !" exclaim'd Terence, " Ogh, 
murder !" 



77 



IMPROMPTU, 



ON A PEDANTIC BLOCKHEAD WHO WORE A GREAT QUANTITY 
OF HAIR-POWDER. 



With a head like the Alps Mr. ever goes, 

Let none the comparison shock ; 
Its summit is white as perpetual snows, 

And beneath it's an obdurate rock. 



78 



DORS MON ENFANT, 



A TRANSLATION, 



Close, dearest babe, those fev'rish eyes, 
Ah ! calm that quick convulsive start ; 

Hush ! sweet, nor let those piercing cries 
Harrow thy wretched mother's heart. 

Thy father, once as fair as thee, 

Taught my poor breast with love to burn ; 
He gain'd my faith, ah ! wretched me ; 

A faith which met not with return. 

'Twas hard, 'twas cruel, thus to quit 

One who ador'd so tenderly : 
Ador'd — by heavens ! I love him yet, 

And still must love him till I die. 



79 

Yes — in thy eyes, thy witching face, 

His too attractive mien I see ; 
How sweet in every line to trace 

All but his cold inconstancy ! 

At waking, let an artless smile 

Cheer me, whilst I thy form embrace ; 

But Edwin ! thine was full of guile, 
It caus'd my fall and my disgrace. 

Yet, come my babe, our fates we'll join, 
Our sad affliction learn to share; 

Thy infant sufferings shall be mine, 
My aged wants must be thy care. 

Sleep on, my child, upon thy mother's heart, 

Twill burst in twain whenever we must part. 



80 



IRREGULAR STANZAS. 

I have wept with a sorrow 

To memory dear ; 
I have look'd for to-morrow, 

With hope and with fear : 

I have sigh'd, as I thought 
On my childhood gone by ; 

The vision which brought 
My full heart to my eye : 

Happy dream of delight ! 

Evanescent, brief day ; 
The flower, which a blight 

Has consign'd to decay ; 



81 

Like a leaf which had scarcely 

Completed its form, 
When the rude winds blew fiercely 

Their prey to the storm. 

Yet the rose that has blown, 
Far more sweet will appear ; 

Like the joys which we've known, 
And record bv a tear. 



d5 



82 



WAR HlfMN. 



TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN* 



Sons of the soil! to arms, to arms! 
Regret not love and beauty's charms ; 
To sire and children bid adieu, 
Honour and justice call on you : 
March on ! — and let proud Gallia know 
She wars not with a common foe. 
To arms ! to arms ! 



83 

All in the silence of the tomb, 
(Alas ! how wretched was her doom !) 
The daughter of the Caesars sleeps, 
O'er whose sad fate an empire weeps : 
Yes, Marie Antoinettes shade, 
Bids us now draw the battle-blade : 
Advance — and let her murderers know, 
They war not with a common foe. 
To arms ! to arms ! 



Confront that desolating band 
Which devastated Prussia's land; 
Which bends beneath th' Usurper's rod,, 
And slaughters nations at his nod : 
Strike, and let those invaders know* 
They war not with a common foe. 
To arms ! to arms ! 



84 

Come, all Germania, join as one, 
To avenge the altar and the throne ; 
Let the shrill trumpet from afar 
Proclaim a retributive war : 
Then shall defeated legions know, 
They war not with a common foe. 
To arms! to arms! 



85 



TRANSLATED FROM THE PORTUGUESE. 

The blissful moments pass'd with thee, 
Graven on memory's page for ever ; 

Forgotten cannot be by me, 

Lilia ! my love, my life — no, never ! 



86 



ON A WITHERING ASH-TREE. 

Dear friendly Ash ! which long hast stood, 

Companion of unsocial care, 
Best lov'd of all the tufted wood, 

No more your verdant charms you bear ; 
Must thou then perish, hapless tree ? 
Emblem of life's uncertainty ! 

Oft on thy bark, with amorous pen, 
The lover grav'd the tender thought ; 

Oft from the gay resort of men, 

Thy spreading boughs affliction sought : 

And pensive oft to court thy shade, 

Perchance the fabling poet stray'd. 



87 

But now, or parch'd by sultry sun, 
Or blighted by the tempest's breath, 

Thy head is bent, thy wreck's begun, 
And sad thy faded couch beneath : 

Whilst all adown the mountain's side 

Is borne thy former leafy pride. 

Oh ! droop not thus, returning spring 
Thy faded health may yet renew ; — 

Bland Zephyr's sigh a balm may bring, 
With sweet reviving tears of dew : 

Not so thy lot, oh ! man, may be ; 

A second spring blooms not for thee. 



88 



THE CREDITOR. 



O ! say, sweet maiden with the mild blue eye, 

Beaming with pity for another's sadness. 
Sister of Mercy ! dear Humanity ! 

Whose coming filled each drooping heart with 
gladness, 
Where hast thou fled — hast fled from men for ever? 

Say art thou found within the tyger's den, 
And dost thou teach him from his breast to sever 

Those cruel feelings we now find in men ? 



89 

The hungry tiger and the lion fierce, 

For sustenance imbrue their claws in blood ; 
But men, more cruel, brothers' bosoms pierce, 

From sordid avarice, but not for food. 
The eagle soars in air in quest of prey, 

Eager its crying young ones to provide 
With food, their craving hunger to allay, 

And not for sordid gain, or pamper'd pride. 

But men, who, not content with common gain, 

Unfeelingly their fellow-men oppress ; 
Look on the poor with coldness and disdain, 

And heedless view their fellow-man's distress. 
How can the creditor for mercy sue — 

That mercy which, by Shakspeare we are told, 
Droppeth from Heaven as the gentle dew, 

Adorning monarchs more than crowns of gold ? 



90 

Can he expect that Heaven on him will shower 

That mercy, which to others he denies, 
Whilst using what he terms his legal power, 

Regardless of a wife's or children's sighs ? 
A trifling debt, which is to him a mite, 

Can that alone induce him to proceed, 
(Merely because it is his lawful right) 

Against a man whose family's in need ? 

Can he behold the children ail in tears, 

And see the tender mother's anxious gaze, 
As her babes' cry for food and fire she hears — 

No food has she, no light, nor fuel's blaze : 
Oppression's hand to prison bore away 

Her mate, once wont to toil with painful care, 
Alas ! with small success, the livelong day, 

To feed his children, and their morsel share. 



91 

Life's a brief span compared with what's to come : 

The merciful are numbered with the bless'd ; 
Irrevocable is the oppressor's doom ; 

The pain will cease of those who were oppress'd. 
To day's the rich man's, but not so to morrow ; 

The good things of this nether world were his ; 
His debtor then he gave to bonds and sorrow, 

But soon the poor man's home's in realms of 
bliss. 



92 



LINES 

SENT TO THE AUTHOR IN CONSEQUENCE OF A CONVERSATION 
ON " WHAT IS LIFE?" 

What is life ? — a tale oft told, 

For ever new, for ever old ; 

A theme by poets often sung. 

What is life ? Oh ! when we're young, 

'Tis like a violet's odour shed, 

But, ah ! as fleet, its sweets are fled. 

What is life? — a meteor's gleam — 
A rose-leaf floating on the stream — 
A serpent in a flowery chain. 
What is life? — 'tis like my strain, 
Born in mis'ry — but a breath, 
Herald to the despot, Death. 



93 
SONG. 

WRITTEN FOR A DRAMATIC REPRESENTATION., 



TUNE — Fleuve du Tage. 



Ladies, deny men, 

Spurn their artful pray'r ; 
Fetters of hymen 

Are the bonds of care. 
In men there's no believing, 
The sex is all deceiving ; 
Then love is turn'd to grieving, 
And promises to air. 
Ladies, deny men, 

Spurn their artful pray'r ; 
Fetters of hymen 
Are the bonds of care. 



94 

If you Ve a lover, 

Keep him in your chain ; 
Once wedlock over, 

Charms are used in vain. 
As changeful winds are blowing, 
Or streamlets daily flowing, 
So passion 's always going, 
And pleasure 's chased by pain. 
Ladies, deny men, 

Spurn their artful pray'r ;' 
Fetters of hymen 
Are the bonds of care. 



95 



IMITATED FROM THE GREEK OF 
ANACREON. 

Arm'd with a hostile horn, the bull we see, 
By nature form'd intrepid, strong, and free ; 
Of swiftest feet did nature frame the steed, 
Steady in fight and wond'rous in his speed. 
The lion, when creation first began, # 
Was harmless, ere the fall of guilty man ; 
Yet still a deadly fang he always bore, 
Since dipp'd, full often, deep in human gore. 



* The author is aware that the allusion to the days of Eden does 
not occur in his old acquaintance, Anacreon ; but he has considered 
that this broad translation may be permitted, and he may be pardoned 
for throwing off the slavery of the verbum verbo translator condemned 
by Horace. 



96 

The tiger and the bear, from nature's hand, 
Had powers destructive ever at command. 
To woman nature gave the means to slay, 
And wound, but only in a gentler way, 
Her charms ! more fell than lion, tiger, bear, 
More dangerous far, as twenty times more fair. 



97 



TO MRS. R. H. M. 

Thou hast not caught me in the net, 

Circe, as dangerous as fair ; 
Nor is my wavering bosom yet 

Distracted betwixt hope and care. 
Go — and exert thy potent spell, 

On other youths essay thy art ; 
Circe — -I bid thee now farewell, 

The conflict's o'er, I've kept my heart. 

E 



98 



IMPROMPTU, 



WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL IN THE PUMP-ROOM AT BATH, AND 
MADE AT A VERY EARLY AGE, ON MISS M. H — 'g SAYING THAT 
SHE HAD MADE A CONQUEST OF MR. FLY, OF GLOUCESTERSHIRE, 



Arm'd, with destruction in her eye, 
She sallied forth and shot a Fly. 



99 



FROM THE SPANISH. 



When Pm no more, no tolling bell 
A wretched lover's fate shall tell, 
Echo alone shall heave the sigh, 
Of pitying beauty passing nigh. 

No anthem heard, no organ's peal, 
The secret of my breast shall steal, 
But love-lorn maids shall, o'er my bed, 
Strew flowers, with light as fairy tread. 



e 2 



100 



EPITAPH 

ON 

COLONEL T— N— N, 

OF LYING MEMORY, 

Here lies T — n — n, neighbours see, 
None so little changed as he ; 
He, when living, always lied, 
Still lies here, although he died- 



101 



THE 

MISNOMERS OF THE METROPOLIS. 

Miss Fortune Vno fortune at all, 

Miss Rich cannot muster a guinea, 
Miss Little's a little too tall, 

Miss Wise is completely a ninny ; 
Miss Black is as white as the snow, 

Miss Green is as red as a cherry, 
Miss Brown's rather greenish or so, 

Whilst Miss White is as brown as a berry. 

Miss Inchbald 's a fine head of hair, 

Miss Hare has got none on her noddle ! 

Miss Young is old, wrinkled, and spare, 

Miss Lightbody scarcely can waddle ; 
e3 



102 

Miss Heaviside bounds like a roe, 

Miss Wild is grave, dull, and uncheery ; 

Miss Still is accounted the go, 
And Miss Graves is excessively merry. 

Miss Sharp has got blunt, as they say, 

Miss Dark is prodigiously bright ; 
Miss Knight has been turn'd into Day, 

And Miss Day is to marry a Knight. 
Then, here is a health to them all, 

Good luck to them, sleeping and waking 5 
If 'tis wrong a fair maid to /razs-call, 

Yet there's surely no sin in .Mws-taking. 



103 



SPANISH SERENADING SONG, 



TRANSLATED. 



Mi dulce amor. 



When midnight tolls, and all around, 
In stilly silence firm is bound ; 
When flowers are clos'd, and echoes cease. 
To breathe an accent to the breeze, 
The faithful Knight his vigil keeps, 
Whilst his sweet love in safety sleeps. 



104 

Murmuring, in song, his charmer's praise, 
The chord responding to his lays, 
His Ladye moves, his Ladye sighs, 
Th' enchantment thro' her senses flies, 
The faithful Knight his vigil keeps, 
When his sweet love no longer sleeps. 

The fleeting moments pass away 

Before Apollo's envious ray ; 

The day comes on, the twilight's gone, 

The lover's breast is sad and lone, 

No more his watch the Knight may keep, 

Though his sweet love pretends to sleep. 



105 
FROM THE LATIN. 



Somne levis quanquam certissima mortis imago. 



Light, downy sleep, of dusky wing, 
Though you a sad resemblance bring, 

Of death, by sickness fed : 
Yet I would woo thy sable charms, 
And take thee to my listless arms, 

The consort of my bed. 

Come, then, thy balmy opiate give, 
By which, at once, we die and live ; 

Unlock thy hidden treasure, 
For sweet it is, thy veil beneath, 
In life, to taste the calm of death, 

Without the pain, — the pleasure. 



106 
CONCLUDING STANZAS. 

Tis not alone the rose's velvet blush 
That tempts the roving bee her sweets to share; 

The humble violet beneath the bush, 

He visits too, and finds out fragrance there. 

Thus, though my lay no votive wreath may claim, 
My muse no wild enchantment can impart ; 

Unknown although I be to poet's fame, 
Yet may I woo the sympathetic heart. 

At love and friendship's temple, now and then, 
Still let remembrance shed its fervid dew ; 

Far from the haunts of proud ambitious men, 
My reed and pen, I'll bid ye then adieu ! 

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